


Politesse

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Man Out of Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane has never before felt that his conduct was unworthy. He has always endeavoured to be a useful, respectful, right-thinking gentleman, and to treat everyone he encounters with politesse. </p><p>So why do his attempts at being respectful towards Miss Abigail Mills always seem to backfire? Will he never learn how to please a woman in this brave new world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The (Former) Beau

_Disclaimer_ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read, so all mistakes are mine._ _  
_

**CHAPTER ONE: THE (FORMER) BEAU**

The first time they get into an argument over his notions of politesse, it's really about Luke.

They have ventured forth to a well-known tavern, The Blue Line, which is popular with law enforcement: One of the older members of the team is retiring and Abbie has decided that she wants to wish him and his family well. Since Ichabod has so little interaction with the other members of the Sheriff's department, and since so many rumours are being tossed around the office about them, she suggests that they go and get a drink with the men and women next to whom they may end up trying to halt the Apocalypse. Having no allies at work is less than helpful, according to Miss Abigail, and on that Ichabod agrees. So together they head into the tavern, Miss Abigail for once dressed in a lovely dark blue frock, so much more comely than her police uniform. Ichabod trailing rather unwillingly behind her, wondering whether his ability to get drunk on a thimbleful of liquor will be much of a handicap tonight-

They barely set one foot inside the door when Luke Morales sees them. Eyes narrowing as they take in Ichabod, then widening as they take in Abbie. The Lieutenant mutters something to the man on his right, downing his drink and then squaring up to Abbie-

He leans over, liquor on his breath, and spits a string of vicious-sounding epithets ay his former sweetheart, accusing her of untoward behaviour towards Ichabod, himself and the entire town of Sleepy Hollow.

And then, looking pleased with himself, he swaggers back to his chair.

It should be a small matter, no cause for discussion. As far as Ichabod is concerned, there is what is appropriate for a man to say to a lady of Miss Abigail's status, and there is what is wholly inappropriate and not to be borne. Any gentleman would be able to tell the difference, and since Lieutenant Morales seems unable to make that distinction, Ichabod will clearly have to educate him.  _Loudly and at length, with a great deal of gesticulation and no small amount of sarcasm._ So before Abbie can stop him he marches up to Morales. Leans down and whispers what he's sure must be the most damning thing the other man has ever heard in his ear.

"How dare you speak to a former sweetheart, a woman you were once betrothed to, in such a manner," he mutters.

He makes a show of looking Morales over, his utter lack of admiration clear in his face.

"Now apologise to Miss Abigail, or I will surely make you pay."

For a moment Morales just stares at him, looking amused by the whole endeavour.  _Apparently he is unaware that in Ichabod's day, duels over a lady's honour were both surprisingly commonplace and usually lethal_. And then he bursts out laughing, making to push his opponent over. Ichabod however, by virtue of having always looked like a scarecrow and spending an inordinate amount of time fighting hand to hand for the Revolutionary War, is not easy to knock down. In fact, he's quite the nasty fighter when he has to be, and he takes it upon himself to demonstrate that now. Luke's shove doesn't budge him, and the Lieutenant's attempt at a punch does little good either. Ichabod is sober and Morales is drunk and that fact evens their match out greatly; Crane simply sidesteps, allowing Luke to throw too much of his weight forward with his punch and nearly fall over. Once he's heading floor-ward Ichabod catches him and pulls him up. Planting a single, sharp punch to his belly and then slamming him back on his chair.

There's a moment of silence then, ugly and hulking with the possibility of retaliation. Ichabod becomes painfully aware that he is surrounded by friends of Morales, people who are frightened or suspicious of him and are thus likely to take the Lieutenant's side over his. Miss Abigail is watching him with a hand over her mouth, her expression somewhere between stricken and furious. She looks far from pleased with either he or her former sweetheart, though Ichabod can't imagine why.

And then, without the slightest fanfare, one of Morales' friends loudly asks the barman for another beer. The silence is broken, the tension with it, and when Ichabod looks back at his opponent, Morales is glowering into his cups, the chagrin clear on his face. Abbie marches over to him and hisses something, which he gloomily nods to before turning his attention back to his drink. It sounds like he's given her an apology, though to Ichabod's eye it appears lacklustre at best. But one of his friends, the one who broke the tense silence by requesting a beer, is distinctly heard calling Morales an "idiot," and most of the people in the bar seem to agree with him. So, honour satisfied, Ichabod follows Miss Abigail out the tavern door, trying to ascertain whether she is well or whether she requires more of his attention-

He finds her sitting on the hood of her car, shooting her firearm randomly into the darkening forest on the other side of the road to the tavern.

When he asks her what's wrong she lectures him about something called "sexism," for over an hour. 

Though the next morning when he comes into the Archive, Morales apologizes to him too.


	2. The Sister, Most Dear

_Disclaimer_ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**THE SISTER MOST DEAR**

The second time it happens, he is not so surprised by it.

In fact, the second time it happens, he expects the rebuke before it even materialises.

Because this time the argument is not really about his manners or his actions but about Miss Abigail and Miss Jenny and the mess that has become of their relationship.

 _And having been witness to more than one sisterly spat in his own family, Ichabod is merely happy that he manages to escape this one with both life and limb intact_.

It starts out once they've gotten back to Corbin- now Ichabod's- cabin in the woods after another painful demon hunt. Miss Abigail had managed to identify and find the creature, but it was Miss Jenny who took the honour of the kill and he should have known that that would be the makings of an argument as surely as he knew his own name. He watches as the two Mills sisters dart around his home, Abigail looking for food, Jenny looking to release some of the tension that always seems to coil within her. Ichabod wants to be helpful so he hands Abbie some plates- she has found a delicacy known as a "pop tart," which she wishes him to try- and while he does so he compliments Miss Jenny on her combat techniques, inquiring where she learned the skill.

"You liked that, did you?" Miss Jenny asks, and while he may be a man out of time and married to boot, he recognises the tone of flirtation in her question.

She ducks her head, bats her eyelashes playfully.

_She really is very lovely, he has to admit._

When he doesn't answer she grins and makes a show of sidling up to him. "Well, English, you want me to tell you my dirty little secret or not?" she teases.  _She is standing quite unconscionably close to him._  As she speaks he feels Abbie's grip on the plates tighten, so much he's surprised she doesn't drop one; He's been around his fellow Witness long enough that he identifies her stress without having to look straight at her and that is probably for the best.

Suddenly the room is thick with a tension even he, loquacious as he is, does not wish to name.

The silence stretches out and Jenny grins in barely-disguised glee.

"I merely wondered where such skill may be acquired, Miss Jenny," he says after a moment. He wishes to step away from her but does not want to appear insulting. "Perhaps I or Miss Mills could also be trained in it-"

_He realises his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth._

But it's Miss Jenny's grin and Miss Abigail's growl as she pads away from him that really drive the point home for him.

Not for the first time in this strange new world he feels a twist of annoyance-  _And a strange wash of yearning for home._

Ichabod has-  _had_ \- two sisters back in England. Twins, Lizzie and Jane, as unalike and yet as alike each other as only two siblings can be. As the eldest and only boy Ichabod had watched them, watched their rivalry in all things from sweethearts to accomplishments. They loved one another fiercely-  _Lord help the man who tried to test that_ \- but in all other things they had been rivals through and through.

He recognises the same volatility in both the Mills women, recognises the desire for one-upmanship which Miss Abigail tries to ignore and Miss Jenny enjoys feeding  into. That they can even irritate one another to the degree that they do so it proof enough of how much they care. But caring or not, Ichabod will not be a pawn in their games and he is determined to show it.  _He is not one of those poor, besotted green boys that Jane and Lizzie used to pitch about as a cat might toy with a mouse._

So with a pointed look at Miss Jenny he gets up and follows Abbie into the pantry.

She's sorting pots and pans into different piles and he knows that such busy work cannot bode well.

Without even turning from her task she tells him, "Whatever you wanna talk to my sister about, you leave me out of it, Crane-"

And though he does not often do so, Ichabod walks over and firmly places a hand on hers, halting her movement.

"I do not truly believe I need to say this, Lieutenant," he says softly. "But I do not have any untoward designs upon your sister, or any on you. Lovely as she is- lovely as you  _both_ are- I am a married man and that will not cease to be the case." He says the next words to the tabletop. "Seven years is not a long time; I will join my Katrina soon enough."

Abbie halts at his words, mollified by his tone perhaps. She has her sister's temper, but she knows when to lay it to rest. What she says however surprises him more than anything Jenny might have come up with.

"Why do you call her by her name and me by my title?" she asks him quietly.

She's staring very hard at a blackened pot as she says it, her tone offhand though her body language belies that.

For a moment Ichabod's brows knit together. He is surprised at her question, surprised at her asking it. It hadn't occurred to him that terms of address for the elder and younger of siblings had fallen out of use.

"I call her Miss Jenny because that is her name," he says eventually. He clears his throat, says the next to the self-same pot on which her eyes now rest. "I call you Miss Mills because you are the eldest, and because I- Because I wish to show respect for you. To you."

He inclines his head slightly. He thinks he understands.

"Forgive me, I did not wish to imply a false intimacy by using your sister's given name. I will desist immediately."

She doesn't raise her eyes to his. "Could you not just call  _me_ Miss Abigail instead?"

And  _now_ Abbie looks up at him. Her dark eyes unreadable, something serious and fierce and… wanting? Underneath her skin.

She is lovely indeed, Ichabod thinks.  _But seven years is no time at all._

He cannot concentrate on that however. Instead Ichabod inclines his head again, letting a small smile play across his features. "Of course… Miss Abigail." His smile widens. "I am honoured by the use of your given name, and will try to be worthy of your trust."

And with that the mood, odd and fractious as it is, is broken. He and Abbie walk easily together back into the house, their usual ease once again to the fore.

He doesn't see Jenny watching them from the doorway. Doesn't realise what she heard him say to her sister.

But he does hear the younger Mills' murmured "You break her heart and I break your face,  _English,_ " as he sits down, pop-tart bearing plate perched precariously on one knee.

He has no reason to doubt her word. 

And he understands the sentiment well enough.


	3. The Leader of Men

_**Disclaimer** _ _: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is_ _intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. And thanks for their reviews go out to marshmallowdeviant and beespoke, as well as everyone who gave kudos. Cheers!_

**THE LEADER OF MEN**

The third time it happens, Ichabod has no idea what Abbie's upset about.

After all, he's trying to protect her. To keep her safe. To lighten her load. It's been a year since she discovered she was a Witness, and three- apparently sleepless- months since Lieutenant Morales' death: She  _needs_ him to watch over her.

Seemingly however, going to Irving and asking him to cut back on her cases breaks some sort of law enforcement tenet of which he was resolutely unaware.

In fact, it's such a faux pas that the good Captain whistles, gives him the same look Washington used to give troops he knew were not coming back from the battle-field and tells Ichabod that, "I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole, Crane. And neither should you. Now get out of here."

Ichabod opens his mouth to retort, annoyed at being dismissed, and as he does so Abbie walks into the office to speak to her superior, showing the sort of terrible timing which would bar her from the stage, should she be so inclined.

She takes one look at Ichabod, one look at Irving, and her face shutters closed, arms crossing over her chest.

It's one of her more irritating traits, that ability to take one look at her partner and immediately ascertain that he's done something less than above-board.

"Alright Crane," she drawls, "what' going on here?"

"Nothing." Inwardly, Ichabod winces.  _A small child could tell that he's lying._

"Uh-huh." She looks past him to Irving, eyebrows raised. "Anything you want to tell me, Captain?"

Ichabod can feel the other man's eyes on him. The tension in the room is almost painful. "Mr. Crane here was just suggesting you need some time off, Lieutenant," Irving says evenly.

If possible, Abbie's razor-straight posture grows even more rigid.

"I, however, was assuring him that if you needed to do so, you'd come to me without expecting your partner to do it for you." He stares very hard at her. "After all, keeping your head on straight is part of your duties. It's right up there with  _don't get shot_ and  _stop the Apocalypse_  and  _keep the crazy English guy away from the Police Commissioner,_  isn't it?"

Ichabod is tempted to smile at this but one look at Abbie puts paid to that.

He has seen her upset, he has seen her angry; He has never, however, seen her  _livid_  before.

Abbie snaps to. "Damn straight, sir," she says tightly. Ichabod has learned to be suspicious of that conversational, of-course-I'll-do-as-you-say tone. "And I'm fine, just a little tired. But then, there's plenty of that going around the department, Sir." She nods to Irving, turns on her heel as smartly as any soldier. Her fingers are squeezed together so tightly her knuckle bones are visible beneath the skin. "Don't worry, I'll keep what you've said in mind," she says as she leaves. "Oh, and Crane?"At the sound of his name Ichabod has to fight the strong desire to wince. She sounds absolutely furious. "Soon as you're done here, you'n me are gonna have a conversation you will not enjoy. You got that?"

And with that she's gone, so angry that Ichabod can see her physically restrain herself from slamming the door behind her.

Crane turns to look at the Captain, opens his mouth to ask but words fail him.

_He is never, he has a terrible feeling, going to hear the end of this._

Summoning whatever of his dignity he can though, he straightens up and moves to follow. Well, not follow exactly, because he likes his head and shoulders in their current, usual configuration, and he suspects speaking to Abbie now would put that configuration in severe jeopardy. But he does know that he can't continue standing in Irving's office, feeling like an idiot and looking like a fool. So he gives the police Captain a curt nod and opens the door, the better to make his escape-

He hears Irving give a pained, martyred sigh and clear his throat.

"Crane," he says quietly.

Ichabod turns to look back at him, surprised that he has stopped him when he felt annoyed enough at his actions to turn witness on him to Miss Abigail.

"Yes?" he inquires, summoning every ounce of archness he can muster.  _It's a lot of archness._

Irving stares at him over his desk. His expression is unreadable. For a moment neither men speak and then- "98," Irving says.

Ichabod raises his eyebrows. "I beg pardon, Captain?"

Irving has turned his attention back to the report he was writing when he walked in. The rest of his words are directed to it. "98% is what Abbie scored on her tests to get into Quantico. She has some of the highest levels of accuracy on the shooting range, and even before she ran into your scrawny self she had one of the highest closing rates of any officer in the department. She's the best we've got."

Ichabod draws himself up in affront. "She is the best of us, Sir. I need no percentiles to tell me that-"

Irving shakes his head. "That's not what I'm suggesting."

"Then what  _are_  you suggesting?"

"That coming in here and tattling on her was out of line."

Irving doesn't look up from his reports as he says the next. His voice is calm, but like Abbie's, Ichabod suspects there is fire beneath it.

"She's a beautiful, brilliant young woman in a man's job, Crane," the Captain says tightly. "She had a mentor who was an older man, and man but the rumour mill made hay with that fact. She now has a weird, English guy as her partner, a guy who  _isn't_  the cop and ex-boyfriend who died trying to save her, and boy but the rumour mill loves that too. She's a woman, and she's African American, which means that she's probably run into more bullshit about whether she can do the job than either of us can imagine- And yet here she is, closing cases. Getting it done. Not complaining, though I know plenty of guys who would."

Irving looks up from his papers.

Ichabod is surprised by what he sees in the other man's eyes.

"She doesn't need you coming in here and telling me what to do for her, Crane," Irving says quietly. "She doesn't need anyone treating her like she's made of glass or she doesn't know her own mind, she gets enough of people assuming with her already. She's tough Crane, because she has to be. Because she's needed to be-"

He closes the report folder with one precise, controlled movement.

Ichabod can't help but feel that this is a dismissal.

"Now go out there and listen to what she says she needs, rather than thinking you already know."

Katrina used to say that Ichabod's main fault was not obstinacy (a trait she herself knew more than enough about) but a tendency to assume he knew everything.  _And since_ _ **she**_ _alone knew everything, this was not to be endured._ Ichabod thinks about this as he walks slowly down the corridor to Abbie's office. He thinks about it some more as she snaps and snarls at him about how she knows when to call for backup and ask for help and when to stand her ground. The fight is short and to the point and she uses some rather colourful language; Ichabod stands and listens and when she's yelled herself out he apologises very softly, tries to make her see that what he did was born of worry and nothing more.

But that night, when she says she's fine, he doesn't secretly purse his lips and think about how he knows just what will cure her.

Instead he sits with her and he works into the night.

And three weeks later, she finally admits that she misses Morales so much she wants to cry, he is the one on whose shoulder she lays her head.

 _He may not always understand her_ , he thinks,  _but he'd rather not understand than risk losing this._


	4. The Second Eve

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to Melissa13 and MsNoGood, as well as everyone who left kudos. Hope you enjoy this slight change in pace, and any feedback is appreciated.

**THE SECOND EVE**

Their next fight is the one which truly causes all the trouble.

It's the one which nearly breaks Ichabod and Abbie's partnership up, and it's the one which nearly results in even their friendship being rent asunder.

Because there are things which a man may be forgiven for, and things which a man should not be forgiven for-

_And Ichabod is well aware that his behaviour towards Abbie on Midsummer Eve is the sort of thing for which duels were fought, back in his time._

It starts innocently enough, with a momentary bit of stupidity on Ichabod's part. The Horsemen Pestilence, sometimes known as Conquest, has decided to rise again, the better to finish the job he tried to start with Roanoke. To this end he sends one of his emissaries into town, a young woman he calls Eve. Tells her to gather as much information on his enemies as she can and then bring him the heads of one or both of the Witnesses to him as proof of her devotion, before unleashing one of his plagues into the water-supply.

This Eve agrees to do, initially stealing into Ichabod's homestead, the better to get a look, up close, at her opponent. She finds him half asleep in front of the fire, reading, and though he knows it is strange that she should come to his home this late at night, initially Ichabod thinks nothing amiss.  _That Eve is some sort of infernal doppelganger of Miss Abigail, a_ _"_ _clone,_ _"_ _as Irving later calls her, is doubtless the main reason he does not see the danger he is in._ But be that as it may, Ichabod welcomes Eve, tells her to share his hearth. It's coming up to the two year anniversary of Luke Morales' death and he assumes that Abbie just needs someone to be with, a friendly shoulder to lean on.

He has asked as much from her, God knows, every time the anniversary of his marriage has come around.

Eve-  _or Abbie, as Ichabod assumes her to be_ \- agrees to his offer of a place at his hearth. She steals in close to the flames, warming her hands as Ichabod watches. Her shoulders hunched over and vulnerable, her lovely face upset and afraid. Not wishing to do anything untoward, but not wishing to see her upset either, Ichabod offers her a friendly pat on the shoulder, about the only bit of physical intimacy he feels it permissible to share with a woman who is neither his wife nor one of his blood-kin. She takes his offer of comfort though, leaning her cheek upon his hand and then, to his surprise, curling up on his lap, her head on his chest, her arms hooked around his neck.

"Hold me," she says. "I'm so cold. I- I don't ever feel warm with anyone but you."

He clears his throat, honoured that such a proud woman should make such an admission to him.

"I will keep you warm if you wish it of me, Miss Abigail," he tells her hesitantly.

"Good." The words are murmured into the skin of his neck. "I don't want anyone else but you."

The smile she shoots him then is bright as sunlight, warmer than the fire in that cold room, and oh but it makes him think of things that he should not. Makes him think of things which are beneath his dignity, and certainly beneath that of Miss Mills. Ichabod knows that he should have stopped matters there, should have told the woman he thought was Abbie gently but firmly that she should do home, that they must desist immediately. He has a wife in Purgatory and she is unwed: He has seen too many women taken advantage of in his years on this Earth, and she is truly too fine and generous a human being to waste herself on an adulterous indiscretion which cannot last.

But though he thinks that, though he knows with every fibre of his being that it is the right thing to do, when the doppelganger raises her head and stares at him, her eyes wide and dark and lovely and, and  _Abbie-like_ , he feels himself succumbing. Slowly, his heart thumping and thudding drunkenly in his chest, his lips brush hers, the first kiss he has shared with anyone since he lost his Katrina. The first kiss he has contemplated since the day he met his wife. He hears the woman in his arms sigh softly, sees her eyes drift shut. Her grip around his neck tightens as her body softens; She lies looser against him, her mouth opening shyly, tongue darting out to glide sweetly over his. The kiss is warm for a moment, tender, a kiss between two sweethearts. A kiss Ichabod knows he has imagined more than once, in the darkest, haziest depths of the night. But it soon changes, becoming charged, lustful, a lover's kiss through and through. Eve twists so that she sits astride him, her hands moving under his shirt, her fingers raking through his hair to loose his queue and tug-

There is a massive, booming explosion, his front door splintering inwards as if an axe has been taken to it. A haze of smoke and sparks- magic?- hissing in its wake.

And then suddenly both Miss Jennie and the genuine Abigail Mills are inside his front room, guns drawn and staring, horrified, at Ichabod with a woman in his lap who isn't his wife.

He sees the look of hurt, then disgust flit across Abbie's face as she takes in what he has done and truth be told, he feels a little sick.

That was three weeks ago now, and while Miss Jenny managed to subdue Eve and even to get information out of her- Molloch and the Horsemen have created copies of every mortal they've taken in Witness, apparently- neither Abbie nor Ichabod have been able to get past what happened. In fact, Mills seems so upset that she's unwilling to talk about it at all. Oh, the fine Lieutenant swears that she isn't angry, says that she knows it's not really about her. She has even gone so far as to suggest that Eve might be some sort of magical creature, a succubus or some such, and that if that's the case then Ichabod was completely unable to fight her off.

 _She put the sex-whammy on you, Crane,_ she said.  _It happens. Just wish she hadn't been wearing my face when she did it, but oh well._

Ichabod is tempted to point out that this theory is all fine and dandy, but why then did Eve not appear to him wearing Katrina's face? Would that not have been more conducive to putting the "sex-whammy," on him? And why did she even try to seduce him at all, when all of heaven and hell should know his devotion to his lady wife? But he doesn't ask those questions aloud, because he doesn't want to examine the thinking behind them. Just as he doesn't want to ponder how close he came to shamelessly debauching his best friend because a demon was wearing her features, and how awkward it is that said best friend caught him in the act. So he keeps to his books, unwilling to be alone with Abbie. God only knows what she thinks he's going to do to her, he tells himself, if given half the chance. The twenty first century is lax and permissive, but surely she must have  _some_ care for her reputation….

And so one week passes, then two, then three, until he gets to the point where he's nearly hoping for an Apocalyptic event, and still his embarrassment soldiers ever onwards.  _It's quite terrifyingly resilient and British, that way._

By the end of week four though, apparently Jenny Mills has had enough though.  _Not surprising really, since she has to live with Abbie._  The situation will have to be dealt with, and to that end she pushes her sister into the Archive Room one day when Ichabod is there, locking the door and taking the key away. Telling the two Witnesses to "sort this crap out, because you don't have to live with her, Crane."

Which at least tells Ichabod precisely where Miss Jenny places the blame for the situation.  _It's not as if he disagrees_.

For about a full minute Abbie stares at him in silence, unwilling perhaps to begin the conversation. But then...

"Look, I know you're embarrassed," she says eventually. "I know… I mean, I guess I'd be embarrassed too, in your shoes. But really, Crane, you've got to get over this: I know you think you're being all respectful and gentlemanly, getting annoyed, but there's no need for it."

Ichabod can't help himself. He jumps to his feet. "This is not about me, Miss Abigail," he says hotly. "This is about  _you_. This is about how  _I_  treated you. How could you permit me to be in your presence, after I attempted to- to-"

"To what? Are you actually about to say that you attempted to do something sleazy and smarmy to me?" She glowers up at him. "This, coming from the man who wouldn't even walk in front of me in a towel when we were sharing a hotel room? Crane, you haven't a douche-bag bone in your body." And Abbie gets to her feet too, staring tartly up at her partner. She takes a step closer, arms crossed, until they're nearly nose to nose, or at least they would be if she were anywhere near his height.

 _For such a little thing, she looks remarkably predatory right now,_ Ichabod thinks.

"That," he says instead, rather than ponder that particular thought, "is beside the point, Miss Mills."

"That," she snaps back, "is exactly the point.  _Mr. Crane_."

"What?" he demands, "that I did not feel the need to discomfort you with my nudity, a man to whom you're not even related?"

She raises her eyes heavenwards, asking for patience. "Whether we're related or not doesn't matter-"

"Of course it matters! It matters because I must treat you with respect, and the only reason a man in my position would importune a woman in yours in that way would be if he expected- If he expected-"

"What?" she snarls. "Sex? That's what you want to say, isn't it?  _Sex. Sex, sex, sex, sex,_ _ **SEX**_. The word's been hanging around us like the ghost of Christmas past ever since that night with Eve, and frankly, I'm sick of it."

And she crosses uncrosses her arms, rakes her hand through her hair.

Just for a moment she looks so harassed that he wants to reach out to her, but he does not.

 _He is not to be trusted with her finer feelings, not now_ , he thinks.

For a moment Abbie says nothing, uncrossing her arms and raking one hand through her hair.

She blows out a puff of breath, obviously trying to calm herself, and when she opens her eyes, her gaze is more collected and calm.

"Look, bottom line, we still have an Apocalypse to stop," she says quietly. "We've still got a world to save, and we've still got four more years before you can head back to your wife and the grave. Whether or not you feel comfortable with this, you're going to have to get over it, Crane: If you don't, we can't work together, and I think that might be what Molloch intended in sending Eve all along."

She sighs.

"So do what you gotta do, square it how you gotta square it. Know that I don't blame you, and that we're ok. But make your peace with this, I need you back in the game-"

And with that she stands up and tells Jenny to, "open the Goddamn door." Once that's accomplished, she leaves, shooting her sister the sort of glare for her stunt that could wither a redwood to dust.

Ichabod stares at her but though he never mentions it again, the memory of Eve is never far from his mind. He squares it, but he doesn't get over it.

_And as Abbie said, maybe that's what Molloch wanted after all._


End file.
